


Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

by heavnofhell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Violence, dark!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavnofhell/pseuds/heavnofhell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S11: Lucifer finds himself free and topside, and in a very unexpected situation. Someone has taken Sam, but is the damage already done?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

The  _shouting_ … the cacophony of screams, ranging from _panic_  to  _agony_ ; that was what told Lucifer that,  _perhaps_ , the potent scent of blood lingering in the air was not that of his own. In that moment in time, however, there was little the archangel  _was_  certain of, aside from the sudden and blissful absence of core-shaking pain ripping through his body. Another point that made him take pause. 

 _His body_? Lucifer didn’t need to look into a mirror to recognize the vessel whose form he had been given. _Nick_. His original vessel - the visage he had chosen to maintain, even after his second fall. But this _was not_ The Cage - this didn’t even seem to be a layer of Hell, despite the obvious carnage in the distance. Smooth tiles of marble lay at his feet, and the rich wood along the walls reeked of fresh polish. 

A moment ago -  _so near_ , in fact, that he could still feel the heat of the Hell Fire licking at his Grace - it had been  _his own_ , pitiful screams filling his ears, drenched in despair and betrayal, ringing out uselessly into the abyss of his damnation; his tortures made new by the creative and vengeful hand of The Darkness. It had been  _years_  of horror; which meant he had been away for a handful of days, in accordance to the movement of time topside. 

His momentary shock began to ebb away, his senses coming into focus as the archangel attempted to ease his mind into a coherent line of thought.  _Whatever_ this was, it had his Father’s impulsive and vague signature written all over it: the deliverance from his third and  _undeserved_  fall, the renewed, and obviously strengthened, vessel… it all spoke of His divine handiwork. Lucifer hadn’t the slightest doubt that his  _point of resurrection_ was  _anything_ less than a part of the plan. 

His exploration down that avenue of musings was cut unexpectedly short, his attention turning at once to the loud bang of a heavy wooden door being thrust open. Lucifer snapped his head to the side, his cold blue eyes landing upon the human in the doorway. To his credit, the man managed to look utterly  _bewildered_ by the archangel, his mouth dropping open as he looked on in silence. The stare-down held solid for a long moment, neither quite sure what to expect, until the human managed to gather himself, drawing a gun and setting his sights directly upon the intruder. 

The clatter of gunmetal followed the dull thud of the lifeless body, Lucifer’s hand held up in front of his chest, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He was  _frustrated_ , he was  _confused_ , and he was  _angry_. He needed answers; mindlessly killing humans could not  _possibly_  be the task for which he had been freed. As he felt the emotions building up in his chest, threatening to burst forth in some form of  _irrelevant retaliation_  against an unknown offender, a familiar energy crashed into him, forcing him to take actual, physical steps backward. 

 _Sam_. There was no denying it - the unique design of his other half’s soul had always beckoned to his Grace - the two drawn together like magnets, the force pulling harder, the nearer they were to one another. His feet were moving, long before his mind had caught up to the new information. Sam Winchester had  _betrayed him_. Sam Winchester had  _hurt him_. Sam Winchester had _turned his back on him._

Sam Winchester had  _saved_ him. 

Sam Winchester  _needed his help_. 

Nothing else mattered. Lucifer’s battered heart was wilting from dread, and his soldier instinct was telling him to cut his losses, and to do what was best for himself. And that was _exactly_  what he was doing. The archangel strode through the doorway, turning down the long corridor just outside, needing no map, no direction - not even his own  _eyesight_  was necessary in this moment. Sam was in this building, and  _nothing_  would keep Lucifer from finding him. 

As he moved forward, the chaotic noise of fear and death grew louder, speeding the archangel’s steps. He met only a handful of humans along the way, dispatching of them with ease, wasting no time for questions or mercy. The corridor twisted a few times, the smell of death growing stronger as Lucifer progressed, the path leading him down a flight of stairs.  _And then_  there were the bodies. 

Blood-soaked, limbs twisted unnaturally, faces contorted in sheer agony… They were scattered haphazardly upon the cold floor. The large, cellar-like room was littered with various tools and devices, some laid out upon tall, silver trays, some hanging from the walls. In the corner, there was a flat, metal slab, the restraints of which, had been forcibly broken apart. Lucifer’s icy blues were scanning over a well-lit cabinet, lined neatly with various solutions and powders, when another, loud thud pulled his attention toward the other side of the room. 

A small side door banged heavily open as a motionless, broken body came flying through, landing with a sickening thud upon the already bloody floor. Hardly a second later, heavy footfalls followed, the formidable form of the youngest Winchester emerging from the doorway with an  _unnerving_ determination. 

A sharp, brittle silence fell between them. Lucifer kept his shoulders back, his face impassive as he studied every shift in the hunter’s body. Sam’s expression was _unnaturally_  blank, blood-lust written clearly in the details of his posture, his chest heaving and his fingers flexing repetitively as he stared unblinkingly at the Morning Star. The tension between them trembled like a taut string in the wind, snapping without warning, when some forgotten tool slid from a nearby tray, clattering to the floor with a tinny clanking sound. 

Sam _lunged_  at Lucifer like an attack dog, his hands reaching out for the archangel’s neck, taking purchase and pushing him forward with _inhuman_ strength. Lucifer’s eyes remained cool and calculating, his brows pinching together in response to the pain being inflicted upon his vessel, but his gaze fixed firmly upon the face in front of him - specifically, the deep, _crimson_  eyes. 

The archangel felt the backs of his knees collide with something hard, and their bodies went tumbling down, the air rushing from Lucifer’s lungs as his back met the cold cement; large, strong hands pushing down  _hard_ against his throat. He reached up to grip the human’s wrists, easily overcoming the unnatural force, and pulling the calloused fingers away from his neck. 

“Sam.” He said the name once - a low command, his voice rich with an unearthly authority. 

“Shut up!” The hunter growled the words, crying out in rage when Lucifer overpowered him. Without warning, Sam pulled away, rising up quickly from his position over the archangel’s body, and moving hurriedly toward a nearby table. Lucifer followed suit, standing up and angling his body toward the hunter. He was hardly on his feet, before Sam was charging at him  _again_ , reaching out with one hand to, once more, grasp the angel’s throat. Lucifer reached up to grip his wrist again, his heart stopping when he caught sight of the wicked grin twisting across the face he knew so well, making Sam look more  _demon_ , than human. 

The  _feeling_  of the blade, pushing effortlessly through the flesh of his side, sliding through tissue and muscle with a sickening ease, was almostmore _surprising_ than painful. Lucifer’s lips parted in shock, his entire body suddenly feeling numb. Clearly satisfied with the reaction, Sam relented his hold on the angel’s neck, pulling the blade free with a swift movement, the warm blood instantly soaking into the fabric of Lucifer’s shirt. 

His sapphire eyes looked down to the blood-coated weapon in the human’s hand, knowing from the pain alone, that it was no _ordinary_  blade - not enough to kill, but enough to slow him down. Clenching his jaw in determination, Lucifer reached up and gripped Sam by the biceps, keeping himself upright as he looked back up to the hunter’s unfamiliar  _red eyes_. 

“Sam.  _Be still_.” His voice trembled now, but the ethereal quality remained, his words accompanied by the cool surge of his powerful Grace, azure eyes glowing with a brilliant light. 

“What are you doing?” Sam ground his teeth together, attempting to pull free of Lucifer’s grip, only to have the archangel strengthen his hold. “Let… go! Ah!” The hunter’s entire body went rigid as he ceased his struggling, his head twisting back as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, the blade falling from his hand. Tendrils of the archangel’s energy seeped directly into his veins, quickly dissolving whatever it was that had corrupted his True Vessel, purifying the blood and cleansing his mind. 

When Sam’s body finally began to relax, the singing energy began to die away, Lucifer’s eyes returning to their brilliant blue, his hands clinging weakly to the hunter’s arms. He watched closely as the man blinked open his hazel eyes, the beautiful, shifting hues sending a wave of relief through the archangel. Lucifer lowered his head, a quiet laugh rumbling up from his chest, the pain and exhaustion having him on the verge of hysteria. 

“Lucifer?” Sam wore a look of utter confusion and disbelief, his eyes growing bright with emotion. “How… I thought you were -” 

“ _Dead_?” Lucifer lifted his head wearily, raising a brow at the hunter, a weak smirk falling across his lips. “ _Come on_ , kiddo -  _you_ , of all people, know I’m _far too_ stubborn to go down so easily.” He hissed quietly, his fingers pulling against the fabric beneath them as he struggled to remain standing. Sam instinctively reached out to catch the archangel, his hands bracing him just beneath his armpits, leaning forward and lowering him to the ground. His hazel eyes were filled with conflicting emotions, his mind racing to comprehend what was happening. 

“What  _happened_? I don’t… I remember being shot, and then waking up in this room.” His eyes widened, his hands moving away from Lucifer and running over his own torso, lifting his shirt and revealing a large gauze strip, which he tore away in one, quick motion. The skin beneath was completely smooth and unmarred, the bullet hole that had been there only hours earlier, was now entirely gone. He looked back up to Lucifer in wonder, his questioning gaze earning him a lopsided smile and a small shrug. 

“Your guess is as good as mine… I think I showed up a little late to the party; all of the good candy was picked over.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Never mind.” Lucifer shook his head gently, slumping over slightly with a shuddering breath. 

“You’re hurt.” Sam’s voice was quiet, his eyes glued to the blood blossoming over the archangel’s side. He reached out a hand, stopping mere inches from the hem of the damp shirt, his gaze flickering up to meet Lucifer’s. “Can I?” The archangel raised a brow, before nodding slowly, holding his breath as the warm fingers peeled back the sticky fabric, feather light touches ghosting gently over the inflamed skin. “What did this?” 

“An angel blade, judging from the pain. It will heal in a few hours.” Sam pressed his lips together, swallowing down the unexpected lump in his throat, and pulling his hands away from the bloody injury. He had  _so many questions_ \- most of which, he knew Lucifer would not be able to answer. The list went racing through his mind:  _Where were you? Is Dean okay? Who killed these people? Why can’t I remember anything?_ Instead, when he finally opened his mouth to speak, what came out, surprised even the hunter. 

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Lucifer inhaled sharply, and it had nothing to do with the pain in his side. He stared up at Sam with that deep, unreadable gaze - a look that could only be described as  _angelic_. The weight of the stare was heavy, but once Sam met it, he could not bring himself to look away. He had never expected the pain he had felt when he had thought Lucifer was dead. It had torn through him, ripping the air from his lungs, and blackening the edges of his vision. It was a  _raw agony_ \- a loss which he could not afford to mourn, not at the time. 

But now, sitting here, breathing the same air as his other half, Sam felt those walls begin to crumble, the need to mourn pushing aside all logic and sense. For one, terrifying moment, he had thought that he was completely alone - that he had lost his brother, Castiel,  _and_  Lucifer - and now, he had been given a second chance. All of his regrets and fears gripped at his heart, his eyes shining bright as the tears threatened to brim over and spill down his face. 

“Lucifer - _I’m sorry_ , I didn’t know -” 

“Sam.” The hunter stopped short, sucking in a choppy breath, his name sounding like a lullaby as it rolled off of the archangel’s tongue. “ _You’re okay_.” His soothing and cryptic words chased away every last shadow of doubt that clung to Sam’s heart, and he pressed his lips together, nodding quickly in understanding, the warm tears finally tumbling down his pale cheeks. With tentative movements, Lucifer reached up a hand, watching Sam’s eyes closely as he leaned up and ran a thumb across his face, wiping away one of the salty droplets. His touch lingered for just a second longer, before he pulled his hand away again. With surprising speed, Sam reached up and grasped Lucifer’s hand, meeting the clear blue eyes with a weak, but  _genuine_  smile. 

“ _We’re_  okay.” He took a deep breath, nodding once more. “We’re gonna be  _okay_.” With one last sigh, he released his hold on the archangel’s hand, leaning forward in his crouched position and sliding an arm behind Lucifer’s back, carefully helping him to stand. The archangel leaned into the supportive hold, and Sam managed to get him to his feet, looking down into the patient, yet pained eyes of his other half. “Come on - let’s go home.”


End file.
